Beyond
by TheAsset6
Summary: The living bear the burden of carrying on for the lost. The dead, however, aren't entirely off the hook. [Contains major Infinity War spoilers.]
1. Beyond

**A/N: So, I saw Infinity War today and was utterly devastated. Some of my favorite characters didn't make it at the end, and while I'm personally about 99% positive that someone is going to use a certain stone to fix that later, I also needed an outlet for that grief. So here is something a bit idealistic, a bit of a what-if scenario that I couldn't get out of my head. Please make sure that you do not read ahead if you haven't seen the movie and wish to avoid spoilers!**

* * *

Bucky should've known this was going to happen.

How many times did he have to lose before he figured that out? Anyone else would have learned their lesson after being thrown out of a train and getting their arm torn off on the jagged rocks of the Alps, but not James Buchanan Barnes. No, he just kept jumping into the deep end without checking to see if there was anything in his way. Sometimes, it was as though he had been falling forever, waiting to hit the ground while never actually making contact. That was his only description for the sensation that accompanied the constant pitfalls he couldn't seem to avoid. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, and now the White Wolf—every single one of them had dropped like a stone in water, treading when they could but ultimately unable to fight the tide that increasingly threatened to drag them under.

This time, it looked like he'd lost that battle before it had even begun. They all had, whether they woke to the same darkness or not.

Well, he _called_ it waking up, but his mind was murky enough that he wasn't so sure. It was almost akin to the days when the world would blur in and out of focus, his limbs cold and rigid at his sides while nameless, faceless goons carted him around for conditioning. When that happened, he didn't get a chance to survey his surroundings or make sense of anything; he hadn't been allowed the luxury of time or certainty. Instead, he'd lived in an endless haze of motion and missions and death and blood. It had stained his hands until that was all he recognized: there was no escaping the telltale red or the whispers of those whose lives he'd ended whether they deserved it or not. No escape, no relief, no atonement before they put him back under and wiped it all away.

Living in Wakanda for the last couple of years had meant that Bucky could put those days behind him, choosing another existence that allowed him to be whoever he wanted. It hadn't erased the memories from his mind like Hydra's machines had done, though, and he carried them with him everywhere he went now.

That was how he maintained his composure when he struggled to rise but couldn't do more than maneuver himself onto all fours. That was how he managed to remain immobile when his eyes opened only to discover that he may as well have kept them closed for all the difference it made. The darkness was complete, maybe even more so than what had blanketed him in his decades of inactivity.

This time, however, he was alone.

There weren't any technicians waiting to check the status of his metal appendage or doctors, if they could be called that, ensuring he was in peak physical condition. Alexander Pierce wasn't there; neither was Vasily Karpov. In the gloom that encompassed everything, he could make out nothing but his own breathing and the way his flesh hand clenched tightly into a fist against whatever passed for ground beneath him.

For a second, that was all the movement he was capable of. None of his limbs were working right; he couldn't even feel them, which was discomfiting at best. In spite of the calm that had descended upon him during his convalescence in T'Challa's hidden kingdom, some habits were harder to break than others. Bucky had already lost an arm—he wasn't about to let another one go wandering off when he least expected it. Every morning, he catalogued his condition: the state of his muscles, the sharpness of his vision, the briskness of his pace. If he had to run, then he wanted to make damn sure he was able to, even if he was well aware that it probably wouldn't be necessary. The king of Wakanda had done everything in his power to ensure that Bucky was not only safe there but welcomed as well. He'd gotten to know the kids from neighboring farms (or, he should say, _they_ had been more responsible for making _his_ acquaintance when he'd been perfectly content to keep to himself); the Dora Milaje checked in every now and again to make sure he had all he required to live comfortably. Running should have been the furthest thing from his mind, yet it was hovering somewhere near the front regardless. The Winter Soldier was gone for good; his legacy was another matter. Given that he and Stark weren't really on the best of terms, he didn't think it was too paranoid to believe that someone would come for him eventually.

So, he'd stayed in shape. He'd ignored his conspicuously empty left sleeve until he'd finally grown accustomed to going about his business with just one hand. He'd focused on keeping busy and helping out any way he could.

He'd counted his five fingers and ten toes. He'd flexed the muscles in his thighs and his calves. He'd gritted his teeth and tested his eyesight—all in preparation for something he couldn't be certain would come.

As it turned out, that effort would apparently be going to waste. Bucky was numb from the top of his head to the soles of his feet where he assumed they were still crammed into combat boots he hadn't worn before that day. Stepping into them hadn't been difficult, nor had slipping his stump into the pretty badass replacement arm Shuri had made for him to fight with. He didn't doubt for a second that she would have given him one whenever he asked, whether he needed it for a battle or simply to pick his nose and scratch his back at the same time, but he hadn't exactly reached a point where he was ready for that sort of thing. He'd been doing fine without another appendage, so there hadn't been a reason to rock the boat. Not until now.

Steve Rogers was a powerful motivator. Always had been, always would be.

But Steve wasn't here—wherever _here_ was. While his vocal chords seemed as frozen as the rest of him, Bucky was certain of that long before his mind caught up enough to consider calling out for him. The two of them had been connected since they were kids, almost to the point where it was kind of creepy. Even when he was locked behind the door of the metal vault Hydra had slammed on his identity, something about that guy had resonated with him. It didn't matter if they were together or apart, a room away or continents: they always found each other, always heard each other, always _felt_ each other. Bucky's mind was still fuzzy, unsure of what the hell had happened, but his lips remembered forming Steve's name before the end. His eyes remembered looking to his best friend when the world had wavered and turned indistinct. His legs remembered trying to reach him and then…

Nothing. Just nothing.

Now he was alone, and he didn't feel Steve Rogers in his head or his heart. He didn't feel anything. For the first time in two years, it was almost like being the Winter Soldier again.

That was what goaded him into steeling his resolve and propelled him not quite to his feet, but close. They were too weak beneath him, trembling as though they might turn to dust under the strain of holding his weight. Exhaustion clung to him, and he got the impression that it didn't have anything to do with the war they'd been waging a minute ago. Had it been a minute? How long had he been out, anyway? Bucky had no way of knowing, although he distantly registered that time wouldn't mean a damn thing here regardless. If he'd been captured, then that needed to be his utmost concern; if he was dreaming this up, then that was a whole other ball of wax. His head wasn't the most reliable or stable place to be, so it wouldn't do him much good to dwell in it for too long. Odds were, he'd already overstayed his welcome if that were the case.

He couldn't just lay there, much as his muscles ached to do precisely that. He had to move, had to figure out where he was—where Steve and the others were— _something_. Anything. His best friend was counting on him; the Wakandans were counting on the White Wolf. He had to get out of here.

That was easier said than done. Bucky's body wasn't his sole enemy: navigating through the dark was its own trial, especially when he couldn't discern whether there was even a _floor_. Logically, there had to be. If there wasn't, he wouldn't be able to walk (see: _stagger_ ) across it. Even so, his fingers met no perceptible resistance when he occasionally toppled forward and reflexively reached out to catch himself. It was like he was floating—or falling—with invisible strings preventing him from hitting the ground. Or it would have been if not for the fact that they didn't do much to keep him upright.

Neither did the lump of _something_ he tripped over.

Grunting in surprise, Bucky rolled to the side so that his metal arm would take the brunt of the impact and winced when it didn't make a sound against the seemingly nonexistent surface below. A second passed where he was positive his imagination was going into overdrive: he still couldn't see a damn thing, and not a sound breached the silence besides the ones he was making. He was no stranger to sensory deprivation, so it wasn't too difficult for him to believe that his brain was giving him what he wanted even though it couldn't possibly be true. There was no one and nothing else here. Wanting that to change wouldn't make it so.

Which meant he was either the luckiest bastard in the universe ( _doubtful_ ) or had apparently appeased somebody upstairs, because he nearly died of relief when a familiar groan reached him through the ceaseless shadow.

"Sam?" he called softly, hardly daring to hope.

There was a rustle of clothing then a murmured, "Where the hell are we?"

Oh, yeah. He'd somehow gotten lucky this time. Sam was a military man, and as such, he wasn't prone to pointless panicking even in the direst of circumstances. They hadn't exactly gotten along on the rare occasions when they'd been forced into each other's company, but Bucky had to grudgingly respect the guy for that.

Shrugging a shoulder before remembering that Sam wouldn't see it, he replied, "No idea."

"Gonna take a wild guess that we aren't in Kansas anymore," he retorted wryly. It was a nice way to disguise the uncertainty in his voice.

 _He's been taking too many lessons from Steve._

"Yeah," sighed Bucky, glaring into the darkness. "Looks that way."

"Anybody else here?"

"Just us, as far as I know."

Sam didn't immediately respond, and Bucky had to bite back a smirk. Any other day, he probably would have made some smart remark about how they were in hell or that he must have pissed somebody off to end up with no one else for company. A couple of years ago, Bucky would have anticipated it.

Not today, though. Wherever they were, whatever had happened, they would be better served by sticking together rather than poking at each other the way they had in the past. There would be time for that when they made it out of this place.

He hoped.

For now, they had to keep their priorities straight. Getting out, getting to the others, getting to _Thanos_ —that was their mission. And Bucky was nothing if not damn good at focusing on a mission.

Fortunately, so was Sam. He seemed to be taking their situation in stride, because he sounded a lot steadier when he asked, "You having trouble remembering how we got here, or is it just me?"

"Definitely not you."

A pause, then, "All things considered, that's not too comforting."

 _There_ was the old Sam. Bucky had been starting to think that he was going to be a professional about this. Silly him.

Smirking, he shot back, "Hey, I can remember what I had for breakfast and everything these days."

"Oh, really? What'd you have for breakfast, then?"

"Nothing. I was too busy saving the world."

"Uh huh. I'm starting to think we didn't do such a hot job," observed Sam, his humor instantly vanishing and taking Bucky's smile along with it.

He didn't have an argument for that one. The longer they sat in the dark, the more he wondered whether this really _was_ some kind of hell—sarcasm aside. How they'd gotten here was about as clear to him as where they were, but he wasn't stupid: it was more likely that they'd died on the battlefield than that they'd been captured. Thanos didn't need them; they didn't have anything he could possibly use. Maybe that would have been different if his arm had contained an infinity stone or something, but while Shuri was a talented scientist, he doubted she'd had access to that sort of thing before Steve had shown up with Vision in tow. That meant they were nothing to that psychopath.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? _People_ didn't matter to him; _lives_ were expendable if it would preserve the rest of civilization. That, at least, was what he had gotten from the spiel Thanos had spun.

Genocide in order to save half the planet. Talk about a load of crap.

For once, Bucky had to hand it to Hydra: at least when they'd been set on decimating the population, they'd had a reason behind it. They'd been attempting to safeguard their institutions and their aims, which was a far more tangible goal than what Thanos was after. Hydra hadn't been playing God—they'd just been assholes. Bucky could deal with assholes. It was the ones who thought they were in charge of deciding who lived and who died because they were too stupid to come up with a better plan that he had a tougher time with.

The notion left him with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, and Bucky had to swallow hard against the question he really wanted to ask: _do you think we're still alive?_ It wouldn't have been unwarranted, that was for sure. The last thing he _did_ recall with any clarity was that Thanos had succeeded. He'd used the time stone or whatever it was to turn back the clock and rip his prize from Vision's head. Nothing Thor had done could change that, not with that fancy axe of his or his deific strength. In that instant, he had been just as vulnerable as the rest of them, utterly powerless against the might that Thanos had wielded. The might that Bucky increasingly believed may have been used against him. Against Sam.

Against half the universe.

Why else would they be here? Why else would his brain protest his attempts to access whatever had happened prior to slipping from consciousness to whatever passed for it now? Why else would they be trapped in darkness, far from Steve or anyone else who could have any answers as to what was going on?

Question piled upon question, but neither he nor Sam gave them voice. If they did, it would make this _real_. If they did, they would be admitting what they only had to fear for now.

"We've gotta get out of here," Bucky echoed his thoughts from earlier aloud, feeling more than hearing the air displaced by what he assumed was Sam's nod of agreement.

"Yeah, man. We've still got more ass to kick."

He was right about that, not that Bucky had a lot of confidence that they'd manage it. Sam obviously didn't either, but that didn't stop him from muttering something about how Steve owed them for this and how the next hotel was going to be a ten-star one. It didn't stop him from practically smacking Bucky in the face as he blindly felt ahead of him for any unexpected obstacles. It didn't stop him from quietly calming a grieving Wanda when they stumbled across her or making hushed plans that would probably never come to fruition with T'Challa when they happened upon him.

All the while, Bucky simply followed and listened and waited. What he was waiting for, he wasn't entirely certain. Maybe it was for something to change, or perhaps it was merely for their actual deaths to whisk them away from one another forever.

Or maybe that part of him that had never come home from the war was simply wondering if they would find Steve next so that he could say goodbye first.

Either way, his suspicions didn't materialize—not yet. They were allowed to wander alongside those of their comrades who hadn't been fortunate enough to be spared Thanos's cleansing, their souls gathering here rather than moving on to whatever it was that existed after death. If T'Challa's assumptions were correct—and the guy wasn't wrong often—then things hadn't gone entirely to plan for their giant purple enemy. No one had ever wielded the infinity stones the way he had, which left the possibility, however slight, that they weren't as down and out as they seemed.

There was still hope. There _had_ to be.

If they could just get the hell out of here.

Or turn back time.


	2. Below

**A/N: So, to the guest who asked for this story to continue, I give you a second chapter! I'm afraid it's the last you'll see of this story, though, as I definitely don't have the material for a full multi-chapter fic about what comes after Infinity War. These are my headcanons, in any case, so I hope you enjoy them! I hope to be back with more stories for the Cap and MCU fandoms soon, from finishing my reposting of "The Light in the Shadows" to a Captain America!Steve and modern!Bucky zombie AU coming this fall, and a few one-shots in between. Thank you so much for reading!**

Below

"FRIDAY, get a message to Rhodey. Tell him to meet me at the compound."

"Colonel Rhodes isn't at the compound, boss."

Tony paused, frowning at the rapidly approaching— _very_ rapidly approaching—sight of Earth through the giant alien windshield of the vessel he and the cyborg had hot-wired. "What do you mean, he's not at the compound?"

"No heat signatures detected," FRIDAY elaborated in his earpiece. That, at least, hadn't been decimated by Thanos and his mystical, magical glove of doom.

"What about his transponder? We close enough to get a read?"

"The signal is weak, but it appears to be coming from Wakanda."

"Wakanda," Tony deadpanned. When he continued, it was with a slightly hysterical laugh, but he'd had a rough day. His AI would have to forgive him. "He's in _Wakanda_? What, did he take up rhino farming or something? Get him on the line."

"Sorry, boss—you're still too far out of range."

"Problem?" interjected the blueberry terminator. He would have taken offense to the condescension in her gaze when she glanced over at him from her own steering…whatever, if it weren't for the fact that they were careening towards earth at the kind of speeds that usually ended with something going _splat_. Without the control his suit offered him—without his _suit_ , which was currently gathering alien dust on Titan—that was a distinct possibility.

Even so, Tony Stark was a man of pride and dignity. He had faced some of the deadliest foes the world had ever seen and come out on top, leaving a trail of their broken limbs and medical bills in his wake. He was a superhero, and he wasn't about to be intimidated by some intergalactic she…thing.

Maybe he didn't feel much like a superhero right now, but hey, appearances were everything.

 _Thanks for the lesson, Dad._

"Problem?" he scoffed, waving her off with his free hand. "There's no problem. No problem at all. Just taking a little detour to the east by a few degrees."

That apparently wasn't an impressive enough answer. The teen titan wannabe stared flatly at him as she observed, "A few degrees is a few thousand miles."

"Yeah, like I said—detour."

Either she had no idea what that meant or had no interest in explanations, because she didn't press the subject further. Tony was going to call that a win. Given how this week had gone… Well, suffice it to say that he desperately needed one of those.

To be honest, he was still coming to terms with what had happened. He'd been in space before; that whole Chitauri incident was fresh on his mind despite how many years had passed since then. Regardless, the last thing he'd expected was fighting a bunch of extraterrestrial psychopaths, stowing away aboard their freaky merry-go-round, and seeing every one of his few allies getting turned to dust. Ash. Microscopic organisms. Whatever. The point was that this hadn't been the plan—not even remotely.

What _also_ hadn't been the plan was teaming up with the scary half-to-three-quarters-robot lady who was currently his ticket back to Earth. Unfortunately, there hadn't been much choice there: he needed to survey the damage, and she was the sole candidate for hijacking those fancy ships that Thanos had flown around on. It was a partnership of convenience at best, and it had worked out so far, although he could have done without the cycle of awkward silence and weighted barbs. They hadn't crashed, though, so he had to take what he could get.

Optimism was key here, especially when the vessel they'd gotten working was literally falling apart. It wasn't as bad as their last ride, which was in so many pieces that he was pretty sure it put Humpty Dumpty to shame, but this one wasn't much better. Half of it was missing; lucky for them, that was the half where the nonessentials were apparently stored, like _food_ and _soap_ and all those luxury items. The important part was that the engines were relatively intact and, unlike the ship they'd crash-landed on Titan, this one still had some glass between them and space.

The process of getting it airborne wasn't even worth discussing, but at least it had taken his mind off matters. So had steering it when it fought him at every turn and figuring out how it was supposed to get them home when it didn't exactly have the most reliable navigation system.

Bionic Barbie came in handy there.

For the most part, they hadn't said a word to each other, which suited him just fine. They had nothing in common besides loss at Thanos's hands—or _hand_. That was why he was down a spider-themed hero, a wizard, and a ship full of morons, wasn't it? Tall, dark, and purple had gotten what he wanted; he'd started his bid for destroying half the universe and leaving the other side alone, as if that was much of a comfort. From where Tony was standing (barely), it didn't sound like much of a blessing, but then again, the guy didn't seem too big on emotion. Sure, yeah, eliminate a sizable portion of the world: you'd save a ton of food and resources that never would have fed everyone, or if they could, then they would have been distributed to the upper crust while everybody at the bottom scrambled for scraps. What about the psychological cost, though? What about the guy that loses a girlfriend or the kid who ends up with no parents? What about the ragtag group of idiots he'd ostensibly befriended on Titan and whoever knew or gave a damn about them?

What about Aunt May, who was going to spend the rest of her life wondering what had happened to the nephew who never came home from his field trip?

And that wasn't even the worst of it, as if _that_ wasn't bad enough.

If they were going to fix this somehow, then they needed all hands on deck—all the Avengers, whether they were still sore at each other or not. That was why he'd planned on heading straight to the compound: from there, he could contact whoever he could find, and they would send the word around. The phone Cap had given him was lying somewhere in the sewers of New York by now, so that wasn't going to be of much help. There were others, though, that he would be able to locate.

That was what he had to count on, anyway. Thanos had all the stones, which meant it wouldn't be as simple as telling Vision to get his synthetic ass stateside. Nope, they'd have to do this the old-fashioned way, preferably once he had another suit to slip into and Clint's address wherever it was he had to hunker down with his new government-issued bracelet. If he didn't know or wouldn't say where the others were, then he'd track down that ant guy. If _he_ didn't know…

But he was getting ahead of himself. The _worst_ part wasn't the billions of people around the world and presumably more from around the universe who would be grieving their enemy getting his hands on all the infinity stones—the worst part was not knowing how many of the Avengers would be left when he made it back.

The fact that Rhodey's transponder was still on and, for some reason, pointing them in the most unexpected direction imaginable was a good sign. It meant he was mobile, unless someone had stolen his suit, which was impossible with the tech he'd installed in it. The rest were a mystery, one that Tony intended to decipher sooner rather than later. Yeah, they needed all hands on deck, but they had to assess just how many hands that was going to amount to.

Not having enough wasn't an option. Not having enough simply meant they were going to be doing a hell of a lot of recruiting before they were ready to meet the big nasty on his own turf.

Wherever _that_ was, since he hadn't been on Titan when they'd left.

That they knew of.

This whole _illusions_ thing was really starting to throw him off.

He'd ponder it later. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry, like the ones they were going to squish if they didn't set this baby down in just the right spot.

"You _do_ know how to land this thing, right?" he asked skeptically, glancing askance at his copilot. He was going to assume from the disdainful glare she shot him that yeah, she had some idea.

That was good, because he was still trying to wrap his mind around how this thing worked. It operated a bit like his suit, only instead of repulsors that he could control by compensating on either side, it had enormous engines straight out of Star Trek. Don't get him wrong: Tony had nothing against that retro, sixties tech. It merely left a lot to be desired when it came to handling.

It did the trick, though. Between FRIDAY's directions and Inspector Gadget over there, the ship was neck deep in good old Wakandan mud in no time. Now it was just a matter of finding Rhodey, figuring out what the hell he was even _doing_ in Wakanda to begin with, formulating a plan that would put Thanos on the defensive rather than the alternative, and bringing half the universe back to life.

No pressure.

Really, no pressure. None at all.

Until they stepped outside, that was.

"We come in peace," he announced as flippantly as he could when there were too many weapons aimed at him for comfort. Needless to say, it wasn't _very_.

Luckily for him, FRIDAY had been right on the money—Rhodey _was_ here. Along with a few dozen people with spears, but Tony was trying to ignore them for now. It was one step in the right direction, anyway.

"Where the hell have you been?" Rhodey demanded without preamble, the rocket launchers on his epaulettes kindly deactivating when he lowered his repulsor from where it had been leveled a bit too accurately at Tony's face.

Lifting an eyebrow, he retorted, "You know, I _would_ ask you the same question, only here we are. Next time, you could leave a note or something. Just so I don't sit up waiting for you."

Rhodey's eyebrows practically flew up to his hairline as he shot back, "Oh, you wanna talk about waiting? Who was it that decided it was a good idea to hop on board a spa—"

"That was a spur of the moment thing!"

"—ceship and leave the rest of us here to fight Thanos, huh?"

Well, _that_ brought him up short. Tony's mouth went dry as his eyes darted around the congregation, truly taking it all in for the first time. Since he'd never been to Wakanda before, he didn't exactly have anything to compare it to, but he got the distinct impression that they didn't always look so uptight. The group before him was obviously comprised of warriors, probably T'Challa's if he was reading the _solid gold ornamentation_ right, and their eyes were blazing with both suspicion and something that appeared disconcertingly similar to grief. And that wasn't all: they'd definitely been through the wringer. Their clothes and armor (if that was what they were calling it) was askew; there was stuff on the edges of their blades that he didn't want to identify. Every single one of them looked exhausted enough to fall over, yet they stood tall in the face of this guy who'd suddenly plummeted to earth in the same vessel their enemies used.

That might have been one of his less enlightened ideas. Good thing it was actually the iron not-so-giant's.

All of a sudden, Tony's skin was beginning to crawl beneath their scrutiny in a way he hadn't felt since he was at MIT. In fact, even _that_ had been easier. Defending his dissertation had been a breeze when nobody could come up with a valid argument against it, but this? They were staring at him as though he was going to grow a giant purple head and tell them that he was about to murder the ones on the left. Of course, that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard—or one of them. For starters, he wasn't a raving lunatic, just raving. For another…

He knew the guys on the left, from the petite now-blonde Romanoff to the strapping figure he hadn't seen since they were trying to kill each other in Siberia.

 _Since I tried to kill_ him _,_ he reminded himself reluctantly. As much as he didn't want to recall that particular detail, they'd been on the outs long enough that he couldn't very well avoid it. Not if they were going to get the job done.

Not if they were going to be Avengers again.

At that, Tony tore his gaze away from his less than spangly former coworker and that god-awful beard to focus on Rhodey when he solemnly asked the one question he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer to: "Who'd we lose?"

"Vision," he replied immediately, not that it was much of a surprise. Thanos wouldn't have been able to do what he had to those idiots and the wizard without all the stones, which means he'd gotten his hands on the one in Vision's head as well. It stung regardless, but Tony had prepared himself for it during the journey from Titan. He'd live, unlike some.

No, it was the rest that cut him deep, and he didn't think it had anything to do with the fact that Romanoff was the one delivering the bad news in her typical badass drawl.

"Wanda, T'Challa, Sam," she listed in what would have been a dispassionate tone if he hadn't known her for nearly ten years. It was subtle, that tremor that spoke volumes of the grief she'd never allow herself to vocalize—it was there, though. With each successive name, from royalty to merely the royal pains in the ass, her dull monotone screamed the same thing Tony was feeling.

They were gone. They were all gone.

Maybe he should have felt a bittersweet twinge of satisfaction when what remained of the Avengers looked to Cap so that he could swallow hard and murmur, "Bucky." Maybe he should have been glad that justice had been delivered to his parents' murderer, albeit not in quite the manner Tony would have preferred. Maybe he should have made a sarcastic remark about it and reveled in the notion that Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, had _lost_ their civil war.

But he didn't do any of that, because ultimately, those feelings were gone. Well, not completely: there was a pang of something at the sound of Barnes's name, something angry yet tired. Something he'd put to rest in the wake of his battle with Cap, accepting that there was nothing he could do to change what had happened and that the people truly responsible were already dead. Sure, there would always be a part of him that blamed Barnes; it was hard not to when he'd been the one to pull the proverbial trigger. He wasn't the enemy, however. He hadn't been the enemy then, and he wasn't the enemy now.

Telling himself that, repeating it like a mantra in his head and making a mental note to have FRIDAY program it into his calming techniques, was the sole reason why he was able to look Cap in the face. It was the only thing that had him moving forward, slowly so as not to piss off the twitchy soldiers that eyed his every move, and approaching his former friend for the first time in far too long. It was how he managed to grit his teeth, swallow his pride, and nod in common grief.

"You know, after everything you pulled for Barnes," he began, his words somewhat stilted and his jaw tense, "talk about a dick move, taking him away like that."

Apparently, Cap hadn't been anticipating that he would take the high road. That made two of them, because Tony certainly hadn't meant to.

"Yeah, it was," he replied in a voice laden with an odd mixture of surprise, anguish, and hope. Tony hadn't thought that would be possible, but if anyone could do it, Steve Rogers was the guy. He made the stereotype of looking like a lost puppy into reality, so it shouldn't have been shocking.

He was also aiming that look straight at Tony, which wasn't going to cut it. Not at _all_. This wasn't the time for some big sappy reunion—it was a time for _action_. For revenge.

And shaving, but they'd cross that bridge when they had a free minute for Tony to point out that facial hair definitely wasn't Captain America's forte.

For now, he simply clapped his hands together and nodded resolutely. "All right. Guess that settles it. Let's kick some names and take some ass."

As always, Cap was too polite to ask what the hell he was talking about, but Rhodey had no qualms about it. Rather than explain the nuances of the shitstorm they were currently stuck in, however, Tony merely brushed him off with a dismissive, "Don't ask."

That, too, could wait until later.

* * *

"Let me make sure I understand this. You are telling me that this _Thanos_ took my brother and the White Wolf…but left M'Baku?" the princess of Wakanda scoffed, glaring at all of them as if they were playing some prank.

It was funny: when they'd entered the palace and found her standing there to greet them, Tony had been under the impression that she would be the most mature kid on the planet. With a brother like hers, it was impossible _not_ to be. T'Challa was a great guy and all, but he had a stick up his ass the size of his bodyguards' spears, so it hadn't occurred to him that his younger sister would be any different.

So far, he was pleasantly surprised.

The big guy who simultaneously doubled as a small mountain—presumably M'Baku—didn't seem as entertained.

"I will not take offense to that," he ground out, and for a second, it looked like he was going to follow through on that. His shoulders were straight despite the raccoon sitting on one of them, and his expression was utterly unflappable.

Until the furball prodded, "You sure? That was pretty cold, right there."

"Yes," M'Baku muttered with a twitch that belied his otherwise impassive exterior. "Yes, it was."

"This isn't over," Cap interjected before they could tread too far down the path of Wakandan tribal relations. He'd apparently recovered from the initial shock of their losses, because he was same steady presence as always when he assured the princess, "We're taking the fight to him, and we'll bring them back. All we need is a plan."

"And some intergalactic wheels," added Tony, "which I've got covered."

Had Thanos installed some sort of laser into his erstwhile daughter's head, or was her glare just _that_ powerful?

"Correction: our new automaton has it covered," he amended with a shrug in her direction. It did little to appease her, but at least he didn't feel like he was about to spontaneously combust anymore. That would have been awkward.

Even more awkward was the sight of Romanoff and Banner in the same room, not that the two of them seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Unlike the last time he'd seen them together, there weren't any mushy smiles or googly eyes, which could only be a good thing. In fact, he was almost positive of that when Romanoff folded her arms over her chest in a characteristic show of skepticism and asked, "So, what, we just fly into space and hope we find the right planet?"

"With the gauntlet and all the infinity stones, Thanos could be anywhere," their resident droid agreed immediately. Banner, unfortunately, went right along with them.

"It'd be like looking for a needle in a haystack, only the haystack's the size of the universe."

"Well, we're open to suggestions here," Tony cut them off before anyone else could point out how difficult this was going to be. He might have been the king of denial, but he wasn't stupid: that part was always a given. They could max out every server in the world with reasons why this was impossible—what they needed was something that made it _work_.

And, apparently, a teenager.

"I can help you there," the littlest Wakandan reassured them, turning towards the desk-slash-display she'd been examining when they came in. "All we need to do is make the haystack smaller."

Quirking an eyebrow at Rhodey, who simply shrugged in equal confusion, Tony ventured, "And _you_ know how to do that?"

In true adolescent fashion, she leveled him with a smirk so smug that he would have believed he was staring into a mirror if it weren't for the obvious differences between them. Had he and Pepper been considering having kids? They _had_ , hadn't they? Suddenly, Tony was having second thoughts. They'd have to discuss it if the two of them made it through this in one piece.

Because as entertaining as it was, he wasn't so sure he would be able to handle it if his own child told him, "A five-year-old could do it," when he certainly couldn't.

 _I don't know if I like this kid or hate her._

The jury was definitely out on that one, and no amount of super tech or advanced triangulation was going to change that. It didn't matter that she had one of the most sophisticated setups he'd ever seen, complete with a three-dimensional display that allowed her to manipulate her own inventions remotely from an entire world—or, in this case, multiple worlds—away. It didn't matter that she had red dots popping up all over a map of their galaxy in seconds. It didn't matter that she was able to point to two of them that weren't anywhere _near_ their galaxy and say with utter surety, "There."

She was still annoying. That was all that mattered.

But it would have been poor manners to tell her that outright, so Tony contented himself with squinting at the display and wondering, "You LoJack all your friends or just the special ones?"

"My designs are the best in the world," she retorted, shrugging his sarcasm off. "It would be stupid not to."

" _Second_ best, but who's counting?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she laughed incredulously. "I'mma let you finish, but Wakandan technology is the best technology of all time."

 _…_ _Excuse me?_

It wasn't often that someone could steal the words right out of his head, but somehow, she'd managed it. Tony opened his mouth, realized he had nothing to say, closed it—lather, rinse, repeat. It took a few tries before he finally put together a response, and even then, it wasn't to the snarky little shit standing beside him examining her handiwork as though she hadn't just—

"Did she just Kanye me?" he demanded of the room at large. "I think she just Kanye'd me."

"Can we get back to the subject here?" Cap sighed pointedly, to which Tony wagged a finger in disapproval.

"This is extremely important. Not that you'd know that, because you were still a Capsicle at the ti—"

"Did you find something?" he continued, sidestepping Tony entirely to stand beside the apparent new leader of their team.

 _I'm wounded._

Her Highness nodded, the humor draining from her expression as she pointed towards the same two dots as before. "The readings are unstable, but if they were gone, I wouldn't be getting any at all."

"So, they're out there somewhere," Bruce murmured with a relieved nod.

"Yes. It is just a matter of where."

Romanoff frowned. "I thought you said…?"

"It is not that simple," the princess clarified, shaking her head in mingled disappointment and frustration. Tony could honestly say he knew the feeling. "The tracking devices in T'Challa's suit and Sergeant Barnes's arm indicate that they are in that vicinity… The problem is that there _is_ nothing there. There are no planets, not even any meteors."

"Is it possible that it's just too far away?" inquired Cap, his desperation shining through a bit. She must have recognized it too, because when she answered in the negative, it was with a level of remorse she definitely hadn't shown when she'd insulted the Stark tech that the rest of the world gawked at.

"All of my calculations are accurate. They may be there, but nothing else is."

"Great. So, it's another dead end," muttered Rhodey.

Cap, on the other hand, wasn't ready to give up the ghost just yet. What a shock.

"No," he replied firmly. His eyes were locked on the screen, boring into those two dots as if his life depended on them. "It's a place to start. Gear up. We've got a few stops to make before we leave."

"Stops? What stops?" Banner asked, glancing between Cap and Tony like the latter had any idea what was going through the former's head. Spoiler alert: he didn't.

Well, he _thought_ he did, but there was no telling with this guy sometimes.

Fortunately, he was pretty on point in this instance. Cap barely made it to the neat, swirling ramp that would take them back to the palace when he glanced over his shoulder with a gleam in his eyes that was just so _Steve Rogers_.

"You can't fight a war without an army."


End file.
